


Survivor's Guilt

by sambumblebee



Category: The Mandalorian (TV)
Genre: Cleaning Up, Dadalorian, Dantooine, Din Djarin Needs A Break, Domesticity, Gray Jedi, I have plans, Lightsabers, M/M, Man Has Trust Issues But Overcomes Them Way Too Quickly™, ManDadlorian, Mandalorian, Original Character(s), Star Wars References, Trust, Trust Issues, aza koskan is a dumbass whomst i love dearly pls give him a chance, but not yet, cute father son moments, din "dad" djarin, din djarin gay, directly after chapter 8, i promise he's a good one, mando meets a mysterious man 👀, meet Aza he is a loving dumbass with a wise soul and a loving heart, more is coming just you wait, soft dad moments, this will be gay soon i PROMISE
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-12
Updated: 2020-02-12
Packaged: 2021-02-19 08:07:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,012
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22674538
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sambumblebee/pseuds/sambumblebee
Summary: The Mandalorian needs a place to recharge before he goes on his journey to find help raising his terrifyingly powerful Force-using kid, and a mysterious stranger takes him in.
Comments: 6
Kudos: 23





	Survivor's Guilt

**Author's Note:**

> \--
> 
> “I came here to live a quiet life. This is how I keep it that way.”  
> Din tilted his head. Interesting. “A quiet life.”  
> “You should try it some time.”  
> “I did. Didn’t work out.”  
> “I am sorry to hear that.”  
> He looked away. He was, too, but in the end, what good would it have done, him staying on Sorgan, attracting all kinds of danger, or leaving the kid alone to deal with who knows what?
> 
> \--

He did not waste time. Of all the resources the Mandalorian collected, time was the most precious. Every second mattered, every moment must have a purpose, no heartbeat passing without a productive outcome. He could never stop moving forward without a reason for the break. And most of the time, there was no reason that was good enough to warrant a pause. Even on a quiet planet in the middle of nowhere, a rest stop with little danger of discovery or ambush.

This, he thought, was the worst part about nearly but not quite dying. Sometimes, he wished that one of these days a blow would land just a little bit harder so he could avoid the pain of slow recovery. He lay propped up against a wall in his cramped cargo hold, a blanket beneath him and a bedroll stacked behind him. The child leaned against his thigh, fast asleep. His head still felt fuzzy, his ears rang, and at least three of his ribs were broken or bruised. 

Mando sighed heavily. He had not taken off his helmet for over a day before the IG-11 unit had removed it, and it had been at least twelve hours since then. His body shook slightly from hunger and exhaustion. He checked that the child still slept – though now he wondered if it really mattered, since he was his _father_ now, according to the code.

He slid his helmet off as gently as he could. He wrinkled his nose as he set it down beside him - he really needed to clean it before he put it back on. His face was caked with dirt and blood and sweat and tears, hair plastered to his scalp, scabs congealed on the side of his skull, collecting most at the back where he had hit his head the hardest. At the base, he felt an angry bump forming. He rolled his head, cracking his neck. This would be tedious.

He eyed one of the cargo crates Greef had given him. He knew there were rations inside, and he needed to eat. The lid of the container was heavy, but he managed to wrestle it off without moving from his spot on the floor. He found the food along with a surprising amount of water, and ate and drank his fill. His stomach protested at the sudden intake of sustenance after so long without anything to digest, but he ate all the same. This was the way; if he had no time to himself to remove his helmet alone, then he could forgo a meal or two.

He gently set the child on the blanket and stood wearily. His bones ached as he made his way to a secluded corner of the ship, helmet in hand. Piece by piece, the Mandalorian removed his armor, then his clothes, which he set in a basket. He scrubbed himself clean with a cloth and soapy water from the tiny bathroom compartment, gritting his teeth as the damp washcloth made contact with scrapes and gashes. Every breath hurt as he drew air into his chest, shifting his injured ribs. He took extra care around his head, rinsing his hair in the sink and applying more bacta to the wound. He toweled himself off and felt for new blood on his head - there was none. IG had done a good job, and the second dose of bacta made for a quick recovery, though the bump would take longer to fade. He tried not to think about how the droid had saved him in so many ways, how it had all ended only moments after he had accepted his help. _I’m not sad,_ he had lied, and the droid had seen right through him, the way that some people often could not. He would not forget that easily.

He blinked and shook his head, trying to dry his hair and clear his mind of the events in the past that he could not change. He rummaged through a compartment of the cargo bay and pulled out some fresh clothes, suiting back up in a matter of minutes, minus the beskar. Last, he disinfected his helmet and wiped off as much mud and blood as he could. As he turned to walk back down the corridor, about to put his helmet back on, he stopped in his tracks.

The child stared up at him adoringly, shuffling towards him and cooing with those huge, all-knowing eyes. Mando stiffened as the small creature approached him. When he reached the man’s boot, he wrapped his tiny little hands around the Mandalorian’s socked foot, giggling happily.

“Oh, what the hell.”

He gently scooped the child into his arms, bringing him close to his face. The baby grabbed at his nose delightedly, pulling at his nostrils and hanging onto the folds of fabric protecting his neck with his other green hand. Instinctively, Mando kissed the top of the child’s soft head and brought him closer to his chest. The child clung to him, and he to it. For a moment, he stayed there, eyes squeezed shut, breathing in this perfect scene, letting the child burrow its face into his neck, the warmth of his body comforting him.

He could get used to this, he thought.

Then the child began to snore softly, and he remembered how long the day had been, and how much his body needed to recharge. He carefully transferred the sleeping child to its little padded compartment. Mando pulled up a panel on the side of the ship, revealing a cot installed in a neat cubbyhole in the wall. He set his helmet down and turned to where the child lay sleeping. He stood there for a moment longer.

_Screw it._

He lifted the kid gently into the bed beside him, pulling down the door after him. He flicked on a dim light, looking at the child, who eyed him with curiosity.

“Hey bud.”

The child did not answer.

“We really gotta find a name for you, huh?”

He burbled delightedly.

“You probably don’t even know mine.”

The child gazed at him unblinkingly.

“I’m Din Djarin. That’s my name. Even if I never really use it.”

The child reached out to touch Din’s face.

“Din. That’s me. Don’t go telling everyone, though, okay? You can’t even speak, but you can stop fire with your goddamn mind, so who knows.”

The child curled up in his arms and promptly fell asleep.

“Yeah. You don’t even care.”

Din turned off the light.

  
  
  


The morning came slowly. He woke to the child sitting on his chest, staring at him and making unintelligible but insufferably cute baby noises.

“Okay. Morning to you, too.”

Din opened the sleeping compartment back up and set the little one on the ground, where he toddled around happily. He stood slowly, feeling his bruised body ache and creak. His ribs cried out in pain and his head still reeled from his concussion. He groaned. _A day or two,_ he promised himself. No more than a day or two until he could go back to work.

Even without working, though, he needed to keep moving. He couldn’t stay on this planet forever, so he needed to formulate a plan. Dantooine was not quite as off the grid as Sorgan, but it was close. He had settled outside of a small town far enough from the largest city that he thought he could go undetected, at least for a bit. As to how any of the inhabitants would react to his presence, well. That he would have to see.

The child cooed at him delightedly. Din smiled at the little creature.

“You’re probably hungry. Here.”

He grabbed a tiny bag of nuts and handed it to the kid, who immediately began to gobble them up. As the child ate, Din took the opportunity to eat another ration bar, drink some water, and strap on his armor. When he turned to put on his helmet, he found it missing. Alarmed, the Mandalorian whirled around, only to discover his helmet waddling around emitting tiny giggles. He sighed.

“Kid, that’s not going to fit you. C’mere, you little gremlin. Let’s go check out the sights.”

Din lifted his helmet off of the child and picked him up, placing him in the crook of his elbow before replacing the helmet onto his own head.

The world outside smelled like grass and sunlight. Hills and valleys spread out before the ship, hiding scattered villages and fields. This was no swampy Sorgan outback; instead, the landscape fostered a more rugged, scattered farm life. Wheat and livestock, primarily internal trading, tiny population. A low profile - he hoped. This time, though, he was not going to make the mistake of letting the child out of his sight or fooling himself into believing it would be safe forever.

He walked for an hour. The child fell asleep nestled in his arm. His lungs protested. Eventually, he reached the outskirts of a village. A tiny cluster of buildings around a tinier central square with a marketplace bustling with life. The smell of something frying wafted up, making his mouth water. Din stopped at the top of the hill, scanning the area for any danger. Nothing. Yet.

A handful of children ran up to him as he entered the town. They giggled and scattered quickly. He watched as they sprinted out of the square, chasing one another, knocking over baskets as they tumbled through the market. The villagers stared at him but went on with their business, casting him glances filled with more curiosity than fear.

“A Mandalorian.”

The voice came from between two of the earthen huts. A man’s voice, judging by its tone. Din said nothing, only turned towards the stranger, a hand resting on his blaster.

“No need to be afraid. I’m not here to do you any harm. What’s your business here?”

A stranger emerged from the shadows, revealing him to be a man only a few years younger than Din, robed in faded, mossy green. His eyes were dark and calculating. A white scar ran along the side of his head, and he saw that the man was missing half of his left ear where the scar ended.

“Got any lodging? Looking for a place to rest with the kid. Just for a night or two.”

The stranger approached him, looking him up and down, paying particularly close attention to the child, who was mostly covered by fabric.

“Where are you coming from?”

“Does it matter? I’ll be out of your hair as soon as I can be. I only need a place to stay, nothing more.”

“Well then. I’m Aza. Come on, you can stay with me.”

The stranger turned and led Din away from the square, weaving between stalls quickly and deftly. The man moved like water, adaptable and powerful, smooth and swift. He checked every now and then to make sure that the Mandalorian was keeping up. The child had woken up and wanted to grab at everything it saw, exclaiming at all the new sights and sounds.

They reached the end of the village, where the landscape began to slope up again. A small opening in the earth revealed a wooden door leading directly into the base of the hillside. Aza gestured for Din to step inside as he opened it, warm light spilling out of the doorway. He entered cautiously, ducking so as not to bump his head.

He found himself in a small one-room home, layered rugs carpeting the floor, a small table against one wall and a bed against the other, pushed up against a corner. A fireplace burned merrily on the far side of the room, chimney disappearing into the earth above. Din breathed in the smell of something warm and inviting, and his mouth began to water despite his wariness.

“Sit. The stew will be ready in a moment. Would you like any water, or beer? Coffee? Tea?”

Din only stared. “No, I’m fine.”

Aza looked right back, unfaltering. “Please, make yourself at home.”

“...Thank you.” He sat at the small table, shifting the chair so that he had his back to the wall, and let the child sit on his lap and play with a spoon he’d grabbed. “Why are you helping me?” He asked, tilting his head.

Aza chuckled as if he had said something funny. He closed the door behind him. Din stiffened.

“Don’t worry, it’s just to keep the smell of food inside. Don’t want any unwelcome visitors.” The stranger pulled out a chair across from him.

“Unwelcome visitors?”

“Scavengers, not people.”

“You didn’t answer my question.”

Aza smiled knowingly. He was beginning to hate that expression. “You asked for lodging. I offered it.”

Din wanted to strangle the man with his calm demeanor and vague amusement. “What do you want?”

The man looked infuriatingly unconcerned. “I don’t _want_ anything. Only to offer you what little help I can.”

“What, out of the kindness of your heart?”

“Is that so hard to believe?”

“Yeah, actually, it is.”

“Well, believe it. Do you want a place to sleep, or not?”

Din sighed. “Yes. I’m sorry. It’s… not easy…”

“To trust?”

He did not respond. Aza nodded.

“I understand.”

The man stood back up and walked towards the pot hanging over the fireplace.

“Is the child hungry?”

“He’ll eat. Thank you.”

Aza poured some stew into a small bowl, then made a bowl for himself before walking back to the table. He set the smaller bowl in front of Din and the kid, who eagerly reached out and used the spoon to practically shovel the stuff into his tiny mouth. Aza laughed, an annoyingly pleasant sound.

“And what about you? You won’t eat?”

“No.”

“Do you get food funneled into that helmet of yours or something?”

“No!”

“So you do take it off sometimes.”

“Not in front of anyone.”

The man looked at him calculatingly. “Ah. I see. Would you like me to leave?”

“No, I ate this morning.” Din paused. “Thank you, though.”

Aza tilted his head in acknowledgement. As he ate, Din looked around the space. Pots and pans hung from the ceiling, warm candelabras dotted the walls, the bed in the corner piled high with quilts and pillows. A couple of wooden staffs leaned against one corner, along with a lonely straw broom.

“What do you do?” he asked.

The stranger set down his bowl and looked at Din. He had the unsettling sensation that Aza could see through his visor and directly into his eyes. “I keep to myself. Keep out of trouble while I’m here. Sometimes I’ll tend crops, fend off scavengers, keep the peace.”

“How noble.”

“No. I came here to live a quiet life. This is how I keep it that way.”

Din tilted his head. Interesting. “A quiet life.”

“You should try it some time.”

“I did. Didn’t work out.”

“I am sorry to hear that.”

He looked away. He was, too, but in the end, what good would it have done, him staying on Sorgan, attracting all kinds of danger, or leaving the kid alone to deal with who knows what? As if it could read his mind, the child pushed away the bowl of stew and turned to reach up to Din with its tiny hands, cooing. He hoisted the little one up to nestle in the crook of his neck, where it nuzzled against him. As he looked at the empty bowls and bread crusts, he suddenly remembered sitting on his father’s lap at dinner, his mother smiling at them across the table, the taste of soup still on his tongue, the scent of woodsmoke in the air. He had grabbed for another piece of bread - “Din, you already had-” “It’s fine, he can have one more piece, he’s growing.” His father tore off a chunk of fresh baked bread, still warm, and handed it to Din while his mother looked at him with pursed lips but a twinkle in her eye. Then. A rumble. Muffled shouts. Air electric. The smell of something metallic and dangerous. The bowls shook, a clay cup clattered off of the table and then onto the floor, shattering. His father’s hand dug into his arm painfully. “They’re here.”

He blinked. He was back in the warm room with its packed-earth walls, faded rugs, and the smell of spices, not metal and fuel. The child clung tightly one of his fingers, looking up at him with huge concerned eyes. Din stroked one of its fuzzy ears gently. It reached up at him with his other tiny hand, eyes narrowing, and a wave of _calm_ washed over him. The Child was trying to _heal_ him.

He suddenly became aware of Aza looking at him. His gaze did not falter. He felt… exposed, in a way that he could not fully understand, like someone had removed a layer of his armor, stripped him down to his underclothes. He released a shaky breath, just strong enough to make it through the modulator. The silence stretched, and stretched, and stretched, the child still cuddled up against him, Aza across from him, fire crackling out of sight. Finally, Aza shifted in his seat, elbow on the table, hand twirling distractingly.

He questioned Din directly, but not maliciously. “You did it all for him?”

“Yes.”

“And before that?”

Din tilted his head.

“No quiet life for you?”

“I’m a Mandalorian. Quiet isn’t exactly a part of our lifestyle.”

Aza eyed him, responding only with a noncommittal “hmm.” Then he stood and collected all of the bowls and spoons, sweeping the crumbs away as he did. As he washed the dishes in a basin in the little open kitchen, only a few yards away, Din took another look around the room. Something was off. He could not understand Aza’s motives. There had to be something else going on, some underlying plot, something he wanted out of the Mandalorian, or worse, the kid. He got up from his chair and turned towards the fireplace and the bed. As he did so, carefully cradling the child in his arm, he noticed a glint of metal from the kitchen in the corner of his eye. He spun around to face Aza. For a split second, his robes swirled to reveal a metal haft of some sort, with no blade attached. Din froze. Something in him screamed _run._

Aza looked up as he set down the last spoon. He instantly read the Mandalorian’s tense pose, but instead of tensing himself to match, his shoulders dropped, and his eyes turned sad.

“What is that?” Din asked, hand on his blaster.

He answered so matter-of-fact that Din almost thought he was lying. “A lightsaber. Don’t worry, I’m not going to-”

But before Aza could answer, Din rose to draw his blaster and had it pressed against the man’s forehead in a split second. “You’re a _Jedi,”_ he spat.

Aza’s expression remained unchanged. “Yes,” he said, “but not of the Order. Please, put down your blaster, and listen to me.”

“Why should I do that?” He said this through gritted teeth, every muscle ready for a fight.

“Because I want to _help_ you.”

Din shoved the barrel of his blaster roughly against Aza’s head, forcing him to kneel. “You’ve said that, and I have a harder time believing it every kriffing time. _Why,_ Jedi? Your people are the sworn enemies of mine!”

The Jedi looked up at him, unafraid, unmoved. “Your child has caused a massive ripple in the Force, and I want to investigate this further. It seems that it needs assistance, and eventually, training, and, by extension, so do you. And again, I am no friend of the Jedi Order.”

His formal tone with its snarky edge nearly made Din want to pull the trigger, but instead, he sighed deeply and lowered it. He flicked the barrel in the direction of the table.

“Get up.”

Aza did, still unconcerned. The Mandalorian pressed the blaster to his back and pushed him forward, motioning for him to sit. He sat across from the stranger, blaster fixed on him the entire time.

“Out with it. Now. Everything you know. I’m done with your cryptic bullshit, just tell me who you are and what you want from me and the kid, or the next thing you’ll hear is your brains splattering onto the floor.”

The stranger only raised an eyebrow at this. “Fine,” he said, taking his time to settle comfortably in his chair and leaning back, fingers interlaced behind his head. “I survived the Jedi Purge as a child, on Coruscant. I’ve been in hiding ever since, picking up odd jobs, moving when Imps got too close. I am what some would call a Gray Jedi - I do not align myself with the Sith or with the Council, neither dark nor light. I walk the balance in between. I felt a great disturbance in the Force recently, and when you arrived, I sensed it had something to do with you. What your child did just then, that healing of the mind, is the mark of an extremely powerful Force-user. I had hoped that you would be open to my help. I don’t want it to have to suffer the way I did. I am adept in the ways of the Force, and I can see that you, my friend, are not. While you may be able to take care of the kid in some ways, in others, I might be of more use. Is that enough of an explanation for you, Mandalorian?”

He doesn’t know what to say. He lowers the blaster, holding the child close to his chest.

“You want… to help the kid. Just because you had a rough childhood?”

Aza sighs. “I wouldn’t put it like that, but sure.”

“How do I know you’re telling the truth?”

“About me being a Gray Jedi?” He laughs. “I can show you my saber.”

The Mandalorian’s expression hardens behind his visor. This would be proof, yes, but a risk. And yet… he nods curtly. The stranger stands and unsheathes his weapon. He clicks a button and a golden shaft of light emerges from the hilt, humming with energy. Aza twirls it deftly, the blade whirring as it cuts through the air, static electricity filling the space. Din feels oddly starstruck instead of afraid or on edge, the breath sucked out of him, watching this man wield this strange saber as if it were an extension of his arm. The child shifts to watch as well, transfixed by the amber glow and the man who wielded it. With every movement, Din couldn’t help but notice how powerful this stranger’s stance was, his arms strong and muscled and his feet quick and light, footwork too perfect to be anything but Force sensitive. After a moment of this performance, Aza stopped and made eye contact with Din. This should not have been possible, but he had no other way of explaining how directly the man met his gaze. This, not the lightsaber show, was what won him over. Nobody should have been able to _see_ him like that. And yet here they were, a Gray Jedi and a Mandalorian, looking at each other under the light of a dangerous weapon and a crackling fire.

Aza sheathed the blade and Din blinked, trying to shake off the trance he’d been under. The child made excited wordless sounds, reaching out for the Jedi, who looked to Din for confirmation. He hesitated, then nodded and allowed Aza to lift the child up and hold him at arm’s length, smiling as he reached out to the man with outstretched hands. The kid tried to grab at Aza’s face with growing frustration until he realized what the kid wanted and laughed, letting him sink his little fingers into his soft beard. The creature cooed delightedly, and Aza held him gently in his arms, stroking his head as Din watched, strangely enamored with the sight. Then the kid began to fall asleep, and Aza fondly handed him back to Din, who undid his cape and created a nest for the kid to rest in on the table. The two of them watched the strange green child snore softly for a few minutes.

“So,” Aza finally said, “You believe me now?”

“Yes,” Din said, nodding.

“And do you trust me?”

Din said nothing for a moment, then sighed, “Maybe.”

The Jedi laughed, a real, hearty laugh. “Of course. You give a Mandalorian a lightshow…”

With that, he sat back down across from Din, gazing at him with renewed interest. “Why are you here? Really?”

He sighed deeply. “Trying to lie low. Find a place to raise the kid. Need money to do that, though, so I still have to take jobs.”

“Raise the kid, huh? You know how powerful that creature is?” The man’s face transformed into an overwhelmed expression, grappling with the enormity of what he was trying to explain. “It’s like a huge magnet, or a generator, or a tractor beam… you can’t escape it, you can’t ignore it, if you’re Force-sensitive like I am. The Force is very strong within him.”

He couldn’t argue with that. He had seen what the kid could do, and he knew that Aza was right; wasn’t this what he had gone out to do? Wasn’t this what the Armorer wanted? In one way or another, he had to raise the kid somehow, find its people, give it the best life he could. And he didn’t love the idea of handing it over to someone else, so... 

“What do you suggest?” He asked, tiling his head at Aza.

They shared another moment of intense eye contact, making Din shiver. “What I’ve been suggesting all along, laserbrain. Let me _help_ you.”

“How?”

“However you need. I’ll follow your lead, give you both guidance where I can, protection if you need it, just let me _be_ there. Please.” His dark eyes showed only truth, which only caused Din more discomfort, as if this man’s honesty stripped him bare. He could not shake the feeling that the events of this afternoon and evening were not a brief chance encounter, but the start of something entirely new, and he swallowed before speaking again.

“Everything I have ever been told wants me to believe you’re trying to trick me, but… I’ll give you a chance.” The words felt heavy on his tongue.

Aza smiled. “A chance is all I ask for.” He reached out a hand, and Din shook it firmly.

A wave of exhaustion washed over him as he learned back in his chair. He envied the kid, fast asleep in a warm pile of fabric on the table. It wasn’t even all that late, but he was still recovering, and his body had been overworked. Aza stood and began to cross the room.

“You must be tired,” he said as he reached the bed, Din following with his gaze, “Here. You can take my bed, I’ll sleep on the floor.”

“No,” Din protest, getting to his feet, “I can’t ask you to do that. I can sleep anywhere, really-”

“You’re my guest, I insist. It’s supposed to be good for your back, anyway.”

Aza grinned at him and Din gave him a withering look from beneath his helm.

“I mean, if you _really_ don’t want me to sleep on the floor, there’s room for two, but I doubt that’s what you meant.”

No, no it is _not_ what he meant. Din tried not to think about the warmth of two bodies under one set of covers, breath whispering on skin, legs touching as they shifted beneath the sheets. He shook his head.

“Suit yourself,” Aza said, raising his hands in defeat. He made his way around the room, extinguishing all lights except for the fire. He then spread out a bedroll and some blankets and pillows on the floor beside the fireplace, a few feet from the bed. Din stood there, uncertain of what he should be doing or where he was meant to be. Aza finished arranging the bedding and then laughed at the Mandalorian’s confused stance.

“If you want to get changed, refresher’s back there,” he said, pointing to an archway in a back corner. Then he frowned. “Your helmet. You gonna keep that on all night?”

Din nodded. He wasn’t about to break the code just to get a good night’s rest.

Aza sighed. “Really?” Then his face lit up dangerously. “Wait here.”

Before Din could question him, Aza rushed over to a box and rummaged around before finding a strip of cloth that he promptly tied around his eyes. “How about now?”

Din sighed. “What, and _you’re_ going to keep _that_ on all night?”

“Why not? I know the space, the Force is with me, and all I’ll need to be doing is sleeping.”

He considered it. “Okay. Fine.”

Aza smiled broadly, then got into his makeshift bed without difficulty despite his blindfold. Din took a moment to examine the man. The mask of knowing amusement and teasing authority melted away as he drifted off, chest rising and falling slowly, muscles relaxing. Din was completely floored by this man’s trust. He could have drawn his pulse rifle and disintegrated this man on the spot, or drawn his blaster, unsheathed his vibroblade, anything, and yet Aza chose to ignore these threats and gave him the benefit of the doubt. Then Din snapped out of it and went to the refresher, returning with a stack of beskar and boots in one arm and his helmet under the other.

He felt so exposed, but Aza’s rumbling snores comforted him. He padded over to the table to scoop up the child, who still slept soundly. He tucked the little bundle into bed before climbing in himself, stashing his vibroblade beneath the pillow and his armor beside the bed. He looked at Aza’s blindfolded face, vulnerable and soft in the flickering firelight, then closed his eyes and slept.


End file.
